


Everything I Do, I Do For You, My Dear

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drunk Sex, Getting Together, Harry in Denial, Internalised Homophobia, M/M, Malfoy's a flirtacious git
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 15:05:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3814891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco is determined to woo Harry into a relationship, especially after they had sex after a night out drinking. However, Harry's internalised homophobia, and inability to connect the dots, will be a problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything I Do, I Do For You, My Dear

Everything I Do, I Do For You, My Dear

After the end of the War, in the midst of the clean-up of Hogwarts castle, Harry Potter cornered Ginny Weasley in front of what used to be an alcove but was now a pile of rubble, and kissed her full on the mouth in a declaration of love and his desire for them to become a couple again. Ginny froze in shock, her hands flying up to clutch at Harry's forearms. But, after a few seconds, she allowed her eyes to slip closed and her mouth to move against Harry's returning the kiss.

All those who stood nearby began to cheer loudly, attracting the attention of people who'd have otherwise missed it. Within a matter of hours, the _Prophet_ had written an article spanning the first five pages, declaring that Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World, Defeater of Dark Wizards, had finally found true love. This love would bring witches and gay wizards to their knees in despair, their hopes and dreams of having a chance to date the great Harry Potter dashed, whilst the rest of the world rejoiced in the fact that new times were most certainly upon them. With Harry as their leader – whether he wanted to be or not – they were all moving toward a better and brighter future.Harry went through the motions, did what he was supposed to do; join the Aurors, kiss the foreheads of babies to “bless” them, hold Ginny's hand in public and smile for the cameras and the crowds, and kiss her cheek on demand in order to play the part of the happy couple. He took interviews, went to Ministry functions, hosted charities. He was the one to cut the ribbon at Hogwarts to signify it's grand re-opening.

He did everything he was supposed to do, and yet something felt … strange. No matter how much he got involved in the Wizarding world, no matter how much he did, he always felt empty inside. Removed from the world and all the people in it. When they were alone, Ginny noticed it. She didn't push him for sex like she used to. She didn't try to get amorous as much. Preferred to spend most of her time at the Burrow instead of at Grimmauld Place with Harry, but he didn't mind.

Sometimes he forgot she lived at Grimmauld Place at all.

*

Harry was satisfied with his life. He _was_.

He just wasn't _happy_ with it.

*

“Harry, this isn't going to work,” said Ginny mournfully. She leaned against the kitchen counter, nursing a cup of tea in her hands. “There's always something between us, or something missing. We're … I can't help but feel like we're just going through the motions, doing what everyone else expects of us. I can't – no, I _won't_ live my life like that. I won't live my life in accordance to what everyone else wants, so after breakfast, I'm moving back to the Burrow.”

Harry wondered if he should be shocked, if he should fight her on this and try to change her mind, but all he could feel was … apathy. He didn't care.

“If that's what you want,” he said. “I'm not going to stop you.”Ginny laughed, a harsh sound that held no amusement.

“And that's another reason why we never worked out, Harry; you never cared enough about me. You'll never fight for me.” She wiped a tear from her eye. Drawing herself up, she inhaled and exhaled noisily and shook her head, as if to drive out unwanted thoughts. “Can I at least hope we'll remain on good terms after this? As friends?”

Did Ginny really want that, or was she asking because they would still be irrevocably tied together by the Weasley clan, therefore an offer of friendship would be the first step in getting rid of any lingering awkwardness and help bring peace between Harry and the Weasleys? Regardless, Harry knew he couldn't afford to turn her offer of friendship down. He wasn't sure how many friends he'd have left after this. Would Ron, Hermione and the rest of the Weasleys get angry at him for this?

“Sure.”

If Harry was honest with himself, it felt like they'd been friends with benefits all along anyway. The spark had just died out not long after they got back together, the novelty of their relationship wearing out. They went from fucking every day and making moony-eyes at each other (to the point where people got disgusted with them, and would more often than not leave if they discovered Harry and Ginny staring at each other again), to fucking maybe once every couple of weeks if they were lucky and ignoring each other when they were out with friends. Whatever they had been to one another before the fall out now meant nothing to either of them. If anyone else had noticed, they didn't say a thing.

Ginny sighed, turned, and dumped her half-full cup of tea in the sink. She shot Harry a disappointed look over her shoulder. “I'll be going now, alright? Take care of yourself.”

“Will do, Gin. You do the same.”

She waved her wand and summoned the bags that Harry had spied her packing the night before. Hesitating, she bent down and kissed Harry on the cheek before she left.

As soon as she was gone, Harry went in search of some beer. He really, really needed a drink now.

*

One beer led to three, and a night in turned into a night out at a nearby Muggle pub. Harry couldn't remember when he'd made the decision to go there; the more he drank at home, the more he thought it was a good decision to go there. He wondered if he should be drinking his sorrows away, but all in all he just felt inexplicably free. Lighter than he'd ever felt before.

At some point a leggy, cocky blond was buying him drinks and talking to him, draping an arm around Harry's shoulders as if they'd been friends for years. Harry didn't have the heart to tell him to piss off; he was getting free drinks out of the deal, so it was win-win in his eyes.

“Why don't you come back to mine?” asked the blond in a seductive tone, lips pressed against the shell of Harry's ear. “We can have a little bit of … fun.”

At first Harry wanted to tell the blond to piss off, but the blond dragged him insistently toward the exit and the next thing Harry knew he was going along with it, because _why not_? Free drinks and sex didn't sound like a bad combination. His night might not end so badly after all.

*

_What the fuck_ did he end up doing last night?

As he pushed himself up in bed, Harry groaned at the throbbing pain between his legs, accompanied with an uncomfortable stickiness that pulled on the skin of his thighs. Through the haze of pain and confusion, Harry came to realise that he was not in his own bed. This wasn't his room. So where the hell was he?

“Mmm, up already?” An arm wound around Harry's midsection in an attempt to drag him back down onto the mattress. All of a sudden, the memories of the previous night came flooding back.

Horrified, Harry wrenched away from the man's arm and scrambled off the bed, only to get one of his feet caught in the sheets and he fell to the floor in an ungainly heap. His already stinging arse hurt even more when he landed on it.

_I fucked a man – no, I was fucked by a man. What the hell is wrong with me?_

“Well,” said the blond man, leaning over the edge of the bed to stare at Harry in amusement, “that's one way to get out of bed, isn't it? Are you alright?”

_To make matters worse, he bloody almost tore my arse apart last night, he was so fucking clumsy. I've gotta get out of here before something else happens –_

“Want some breakfast?” The man threw off the blankets and got out of bed, very much still in the nude. Harry suddenly registed the cool air on his waist and looked down, blushing beet red as he saw his own nakedness. “I make a mean eggs and bacon breakfast.”

“N-no,” choked Harry. “No. _No_!” 

He scrambled to his knees and went in frantic search of his clothes, finding his trousers first and pulling them on. He found that his wand had rolled under his bed with one of his sneakers and quickly stashed the wand away before the man could ask why Harry carried around a strange stick. He grabbed his shirt and shoes, hurriedly pulling on the shirt.

The man frowned down at Harry. “Come on, I wasn't that bad last night.”

“You were!” shouted Harry. “And you're a _man_!”

The man let out an affronted huff. “That didn't seem to bother you last night.”

“I was _drunk_ last night!”

There was a tense pause.

“Ah, so you're one of _those_ ones, are you?” asked the man snidely.

“I don't know or care what you mean by that, so just – just shut up, alright?”

Harry stuffed his socks in his trainers and picked them up. It would take too long trying to put them on and he wanted to be out of there as soon as possible. _What I did … it's not normal. It's so not fucking normal. What the fuck am I going to do now?!_ He ran from the room as quick as he could go, limping a bit.

“You're not even going to thank me for the fuck?” asked the man incredulously, following him out. “Being a bit of an ass, aren't you?”

“Saying thank you would be implying that there was something worth being thankful for, and there wasn't,” snapped Harry, an edge of hysteria in his tone. Damn it, he had to get out of there.

He raced out of the man's house, down the street – ignoring the odd looks he received from passers-by – before ducking into an empty alleyway and Disapparated.

Landing outside Grimmauld Place, he threw open the door, only to have it rebound off the wall and hit him in the shoulder, knocking him off balance. He stumbled his way down the hall, dropping everything he held in his arms, before collapsing on the dusty, old sofa in the drawing room. Burying his hands in his hair, he wished he had a time turner, so that he could go back into the past and stop himself from ever going to that bar in the first place. What a fucking mess he'd made.

He considered fire-calling someone, telling them about this travesty, but that would mean that he had to confess to it. He would have to admit that he'd had sex with a man, and that was not on. No, he would bury this. He would 100% forget this ever happened.

*

Over the next few days, Harry hid away from the world. He shut off his Floo so nobody could call him, he took the letters the owls brought him but left them unopened and sent the owls away without responses. He was so grateful that the man he'd slept with had been a Muggle, therefore there was no chance of Harry's … activities could be brought to the public's attention.

He showed three times a day, wishing that he could wash off the memories of that night, regretting his decision to allow Ginny to leave him without a fight. If he'd fought for her, she'd still be with him, and he never would have done that with a man. He couldn't even call it sex without cringing; sex was something he'd done with Ginny. It couldn't be equated with something he'd done with a complete stranger – a male stranger at that. He shuddered.

 _Stop thinking about it!_ Harry told himself firmly. _You can't forget if you keep thinking about it all the time! Stop, stop, stop!_

But every time he tried to stop thinking about that night, his traitorous mind continue to bring forth memories of heat, the rubbing of sweat-slicked skin against his own, the feeling of pressure between his legs and then inside him –

A loud tapping on the window frightened him so badly he almost threw a nearby shoe at it in alarm. Breathing heavily, he spotted an owl outside the window with … shit, it had a Howler attached to it. Fuck.

Knowing he had no choice, he opened the window and allowed the owl to perch on his shoulder as he untied the Howler from its leg and, with trembling fingers, opened it.

“HARRY POTTER!” Hermione's voice screeched. Harry leapt back on instinct, throwing the Howler up into the air. The owl screamed in fright, talons slicing Harry's shoulder open as it took off out the window again. “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? WHY AREN'T YOU ANSWERING MY OWLS OR MY FIRE CALLS? I KNOW YOU ARE HOME! YOU HAVEN'T BEEN TO WORK IN DAYS! I AM GETTING TIRED OF YOUR CHILDISH BEHAVIOUR. IF YOU DO NOT OPEN YOUR FLOO CONNECTION RIGHT THIS MINUTE, I WILL BLAST YOUR FRONT DOOR IN AND HEX YOU INTO THE NEXT CENTURY, AM I UNDERSTOOD? CALL ME AS SOON AS YOU GET THIS HOWLER – WHICH WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN NECESSARY IF YOU HAD JUST RESPONDED TO MY LETTERS LIKE A PROPER ADULT!”

The Howler promptly tore itself to shreds and lit itself on fire, the embers burning small holes into his carpet as a last “fuck you.”

Well, he had no choice. He didn't care about Hermione making good on her threat to break down his door; instead, he worried about what she'd do to him after that. Hermione was nothing if not scary.

“Harry!” cried Hermione, throwing herself down in front of the fireplace when Harry called. “Where have you been? We've been so worried about you!”

Harry winced. “I'm sorry, Hermione. I just felt like being alone for a little while.”

Hermione's face fell. She looked sympathetic – too sympathetic for Harry's liking.

“Oh, Harry,” she said. “Is this about Ginny?”

It wasn't about Ginny, not by a long-shot, but he very well couldn't tell her the real reason behind his sudden disappearance so he leapt upon the excuse like a drowning man finding a life-line.

“Yeah,” he said, trying to sound appropriately upset.

Hermione threw her arms around him, dragging him in for a hug. “It'll get better, Harry, I promise! You know Ron and I are there for you whenever you need us – and the rest of the Weasleys, too!”

“I know that, Hermione,” said Harry tiredly, dragging a hand through his hair, wincing when his fingers caught on a couple of knots. “But there's just gonna be some times when I need to be by myself.”

Hermione chewed her bottom lip, then sighed. “Fine. But could you at least give us a bit of warning before you drop off the face of the earth? You had us all worried, you know. You can't do that to us.”

Truth be told, Harry did feel guilty about worrying her, but he didn't regret the time he'd spent on his own without anyone being able to contact him. It was kind of refreshing, not being expected to hold up a conversation.“You know,” said Hermione carefully, leading Harry to the kitchen where she set about making two cups of tea, “Ginny's not taking the break-up well either.”

Harry frowned. “But she's the one who broke up with me.”

“Doesn't mean she didn't have actual feelings for you.” Hermione set the mugs down, and the clatter of porcelain on the granite benchtop echoed throughout the kitchen, making Harry jump. She switched the kettle on. “She … Oh, Harry, she felt like you were only with her out of convenience.” Hermione span around, hands reaching back to clutch the benchtop, a beseeching expression on her face. “ _Please_ tell me it wasn't like that.”

Harry went quiet, didn't know what to say. He'd never really given it a thought as to why he'd gotten back with Ginny in the first place. When they got together, the passion had most definitely been there, and she was all he could think about day and night, but … After the war, the romance between them had just burnt itself out. There was no more passion, no more desperation to make every second with her last. When Voldemort had been alive, he'd been a constant, looming presence in Harry's life, ready to take everything from him in a beam of deadly green light – that sort of threat had Harry clutching hold of everything he perceived to be precious, and that had included Ginny. Without that threat, there was nothing.

Evidently, Harry had been silent for too long, as Hermione moaned in despair and buried her face in her hands.

“ _Harry_!” she wailed. “How could you _do_ that to her?”

“It wasn't intentional,” he said defensively. “I thought she was who I wanted to be with, and it turns out I was wrong. I wasn't with her out of convenience.”

 _At least, I don't think I was,_ he thought dubiously, wise enough to know he shouldn't speak the words aloud lest he wanted to face Hermione's wrath. _It kind of feels like I don't know why I was with her. It's like it was a question on an exam I was studying for, and I knew the answer beforehand like I had etched it into my brain, but the second I sit down at the examination and try to answer, I find that it's just gone from my head like it hadn't ever been there._

“Then you're going to have to go to her and tell her that.”

“And you really think she'd want to see or hear from me?” Harry shot her a sceptical look. “Yeah, right.”

The kettle had boiled. Hermione, after retrieving a couple of tea bags from a jar in the pantry, poured the hot water into the cups.

“She's not mad at you,” she said. She caught Harry's expression, sighed and added, “She's upset – of course she is – but I know she'd want to hear from you, to get a bit of an explanation. It must hurt, thinking the person you loved only got with you because you were readily available.”

Guilt shot through Harry like a lightning bolt. “I never meant to make her feel that way. I never meant for it to be like that!”

“I know you didn't, but that's how you made her feel. I guess it must be taking you a bit longer to get over the war than most of us, which is understandable considering the part you had to play in it.” She poured a bit of milk into the mug, the right amount Harry liked, then handed the mug over. “But I hope you don't do this to anyone again. It's not nice to be with someone just because it's convenient to you. Nobody should feel like they're being used, Harry. Nobody should have to question their worth and position in someone's life.”

Harry blew onto his tea to cool it. “Don't worry, Hermione, I'll talk to her.”

 _I just wonder whether she'll want to talk to me_ , he thought.

*

Three days later, he finally bit the bullet and confronted Ginny at The Burrow.

“I'm sorry,” was the first thing he said to her, once getting her outside and away from Mrs. Weasley, who'd been throwing him very stern glances every so often. “I never intended to make you feel like I was with you out of convenience. I just – I don't know what happened.”

Ginny shifted her weight onto her left foot, folding her arms protectively around her chest. “And how long have you felt that way?”

“To be honest? A while.”

“How long is a while, Harry?” Ginny demanded, her voice rising.

“A few months, I guess – Gin, I don't know. I don't know when it started, but I know I should've ended things sooner myself. I should have,” Harry paused, dragging a hand through his hair. This was harder than he'd thought it would be, “I'm sorry. I'm just sorry. I fucked up.”

“Yeah, you did. And I suppose you're here just to apologise and clear the air, not to try and win me back, right?”

“Right.” Harry ducked his head, toeing the ground awkwardly with the tip of his shoe. “I guess we just weren't meant to last.”

Ginny blew out a breath. “I guess not.”

Harry peered at her carefully. “You don't hate me, do you?”

“Some part of me really wants to, Harry, but I get it. I honestly get where you're coming from. The spark wasn't there for me either for a while. I thought we could talk things over and work shit out, but when it's done, it's done. And neither of us were the communicative sort, to boot, so maybe neither of us realised anything was wrong or were too scared to ask, until it was too late. I don't think I could ever hate you, Harry. Besides, how could I hate you when I asked if we could still be friends the day we broke up? Be a bit stupid of me to say that, wouldn't it?”Harry's lips twitched. “I guess.”

Something out of the corner of Harry's eye caught his attention; he saw Mrs. Weasley duck away from the window, throwing the curtain back across like she hoped she hadn't been seen. He smiled, though part of him felt sad; what were Mrs. Weasley's feelings toward him now that he and Ginny hadn't worked out?

“What are you going to do about your mother?” he asked. “She seems to be a bit angry with me at the moment.”

Ginny chuckled, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Not angry, just disappointed. Reckons the two of us could've worked out if we really tried. Wanted grandkids from us, too, as if the rest of her children aren't giving her enough already.”

“Imagine if they all lived in the Burrow.”

“Oh, Merlin!” Ginny laughed, throwing her head back. “There wouldn't be room to move – and that's if the house doesn't topple down on us all first.”

“Yeah.” Harry chuckled along with her. Then, sobering, he said, “So we're good?”

“Yeah.” Ginny nodded. “We're good.”

“Great.”

Another awkward pause settled between them. Harry scratched the back of his neck, staring down at his shoes, wishing for Ginny to either start a conversation or dismiss him. As far as he was concerned, he'd said everything he needed to. The ball was in Ginny's court now.

“GINNY!” hollered Mrs. Weasley. “Come inside, I need your help! _Ginny_!”

 _Never thought I'd be so glad for Molly's interruptions,_ thought Harry. _She has excellent timing._

“Coming, Mum!” Ginny yelled. She shook her head, slapping her thighs as if to say 'well what can you do?'. “Never really get time to yourself around here these days. I'll talk to you later, okay?”

Harry nodded. “Sure.”

“Right. Bye.” For a moment, it looked as if Ginny was going to step forward and place a goodbye kiss on Harry's cheek, but thought better of it. Awkwardly, she waved to him and walked inside without looking back.

Harry blew out a breath and span on his heels, tilting his head back to stare up at the clear sky. At least that had gone well.

*

“So,” said Hermione shrewdly, staring at Harry from across the living room like he was an interesting specimen, “you talked to Ginny?”

It had been a day since Harry had gone to the Burrow and he'd dropped around Ron and Hermione's for a chat. However, he hadn't expected Ron to have been sent out on a minor shopping trip, leaving Harry alone to Hermione's version of the Spanish Inquisition.

“Yes – and can you stop looking at me like that? It's unsettling.”

“How did it go?” she asked, ignoring his comment.

“Fine.” Harry shrugged his shoulders. “We talked, she wasn't angry, she accepted my apology and then Mrs. Weasley called her inside. That's all.”

Hermione clicked her tongue, rolling her eyes. “Molly always did have awful timing about these things,” she said. “She seems to know when people are having an important heart-to-heart conversation, because she always 'stumbles' into them.”

“Ginny and I were done talking anyway, so it didn't matter. Gave me a good excuse to leave.”

“Right.” She picked her mug of tea from the table and blew on the liquid lightly.

“What does Ron think about all this?”

Hermione snorted ungainly. She took a sip of her tea before responding. “Ron's just being Ron, which means,” she shot Harry a knowing look and he bit back a groan, knowing where this was going, “he's undeniably ticked off about it. But he'll come 'round; he always does. Just needs to blow off some steam.”

“Hope so.”

“And that goes for the rest of the Weasleys as well,” said Hermione quickly. “Sans Ginny of course.”

“I had a feeling this would happen – not that I don't deserve it; I do. It's just …” He trailed off, searching for the right word.

“Annoying?” suggested Hermione.

“A little bit.”

Lips quirking into an amused smile, Hermione said delicately, “They all do possess quite a temper. Must be a Weasley family trait.”

“Hopefully yours and Ron's kids get your temperament then.”

Hermione almost choked on her tea.

*

It was just over a week later when Ron's owl – not Pigwidgeon, thank Merlin – had delivered a letter requesting him to go meet up with him at the Leaky Cauldron at five o'clock that evening. The letter was rather impersonal and directly to the point. Sighing, Harry scrunched up the parchment. Ron still wasn't over his anger at Harry for the break-up with Ginny, then.

He wrote a quick note in response – “I'll be there. Harry.” – and attached it to the owl, watching as it immediately took off out the window once the letter was firmly tied to its leg. Then, he span away from the window and pushed the upcoming meet up out of his mind, focusing on more “important” things.

*

Ron had already ordered himself a firewhisky by the time Harry arrived. He didn't smile or greet Harry as he approached, merely watched him, stoic. It set Harry's teeth on edge; you'd think they were strangers due to Ron's behaviour.

“So,” said Harry, dragging out a chair and plonking down on it. “You wanted to speak to me?”

“I want to know why you broke up with Ginny.”

Harry repressed the urge to roll his eyes. “ _She_ broke up with _me_.” 

“Because you weren't trying hard enough!”

“What do you want me to say?” demanded Harry, leaning forward and slapping his hand on the table out of frustration. “I've already apologised to Ginny and it's settled. We just weren't right for each other, that's all.”

“But why not?” Ron's hand clenched around his firewhisky. “You could barely keep your hands off her when you got together, but now you just don't care about her any more?”

“I do care about her! Just not romantically!” Fuck, maybe he should order himself a firewhisky too. He couldn't envision himself getting through this ordeal without being at least a little bit intoxicated. “We gave it our best shot and it just didn't work out. Besides, I don't even know why I have to explain this to you; it's between Ginny and I.”

“Ginny's my little sister,” Ron growled. If he gripped that bottle any harder, he'd break the glass. “I want what's best for her.”

“Then why are you sitting here yelling at me for? I'm not what's best for her.” 

“But you should have been. You should have tried a bit harder!”

“Screw this.” Harry stood and went to the bar, ordering himself a firewhisky as well. Once he got and paid for it, he cracked it open and gulped a good third of it down in one breath. He returned to the table where Ron was watching him impassively. “Hermione was damn right about the Weasley family temperament.”

Ron frowned, confused. “What?”

“Never mind.” Harry drank more. He could already feel the buzz coming on. “Just let it go, Ron. It's done. Ginny and I are over, and we're never getting back together.”

Ron pursed his lips in such a Hermione-esque way it made Harry smile. “Fine.”

“Good.”

*

The fuck happened?

Someone was shaking him awake. With their foot.

“Potter, I know I'm a good shag, but get the fuck out of my bed. I need to clean the sheets.”

 _I know that voice from somewhere,_ thought Harry sleepily. _Where though?_

“Potter! If I have to shake you awake one more time, I'm casting a stinging hex on you, and don't think I won't you great lumpy git!”

Harry moaned in protest, but pushed himself upright anyway, blinking owlishly. “Fine, fine. I'm up.”

“Get out of the bed,” said the familiar voice impatiently. “The sheets are filthy.”

Harry peered blearily at the person, reaching for his glasses. Once he put them on, though, his heart jumped in horror.

“Malfoy!” he shouted, leaping to his feet. “What the fuck?”

Malfoy smirked. “Heh, we're back to _Malfoy_? That's not what you were screaming last night.”

“WHAT?”

“No need to shout, Potter, I'm standing right in front of you.”

“ _What happened last night_?”

Malfoy blinked at him in surprise, folding his arms across his chest. “Just how smashed did you get last night, Potter?”

“I don't know, I don't remember anything!” Harry yanked hard on his hair, willing for all this to be some horrific nightmare. What had he been doing, sleeping in _Draco Malfoy's_ bed? “Tell me what the fuck happened!”

“We fucked, Potter, what do you think happened? You came onto me not long after I arrived at the Leaky Cauldron with Blaise. You were hanging off me for practically an hour before I took you home with me – and don't say that I coerced you, either. You were begging me to take you back and shag you into the mattress. I suppose I was a bit intoxicated as well, because I agreed.”

“What happened to Ron?” Why had Ron just left him there in that vulnerable position?

“How should I know? The Weasel wasn't there when I got there.”

“His name is Ron, not Weasel!” snapped Harry, grabbing at straws to complain about something. He couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that Ron had left him drunk in the middle of the pub. They both knew that Harry was a horribly loud, clingy, horny drunk. So the two of them still weren't alright? Before the thing with Ginny, Ron would never have left Harry alone in a pub, completely smashed. “So we … You and I, we …”

He couldn't say it. Saying it would make it true.

“Fucked, Potter?” Malfoy smirked, apparently very pleased with himself. “Yeah, we did.”

“Merlin.” Harry slapped a hand to his forehead. “Why does this shit happen to me?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Malfoy shifted his weight onto his left foot so he stood at an angle. “If it helps any, you certainly enjoyed yourself. Quite the screamer, must say.”

Harry reckoned his face was hot enough from embarrassment to cook a whole meal. “Shut up.”

Fuck, what _had_ he been thinking last night?

There had been plenty of women – attractive women! – at that bar last night and he'd gone home on the arm of Draco bloody Malfoy? Right, that was going to be the last time he'd ever get plastered in public because – “I'm not even gay!”

Malfoy arched a brow – and damn him for having that skill too! “Taking a dick up the ass is pretty gay, Potter. Even for you.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?!”

“Whatever you want it to mean.” Malfoy shrugged. “If you're going to have a sexuality crisis, I'd rather you do it outside my apartment where I don't have to see it.”

Harry spoke through gritted teeth, “I'm not having a sexuality crisis because I know I'm not gay!”

“Bisexual then?”

“Bi – what?”

Malfoy released an inelegant snort of disdain.

“Are you really that dense, Potter? Do you learn nothing but whatever Granger sees fit to teach you? Bisexual! Liking both men and women. More common than you think. There are plenty of guys who like to put their dicks inside chicks and other guys. Honestly, do some research!” Malfoy bent down, scooped up Harry's clothes and chucked them at his head. “Get dressed! If you're done with the crisis you claim you're not having, which is a lie, then I might as well make breakfast before I kick you out.”

He marched out of the room. Harry scrambled out of bed and put his clothes on at top speed. Malfoy was a dick, sure, but there was no way he was passing up a free meal. Who knew Malfoy could cook?

Harry found the kitchen by following his nose, the enticing smell of bacon and sausages making his empty stomach rumble.

“Sit,” said Malfoy sharply, pointing to the second of three stools in front of the kitchen island. Obediently, Harry pulled it out and sat down. “Breakfast should be ready in a few minutes.”

 _Doesn't matter whether you're gay or bisexual,_ Harry thought, watching Malfoy move about the kitchen, _it's still wrong._

After today, Harry would be extra vigilant to never wind up in this sort of position again. He couldn't afford to feel even more disgusted with himself. What would he do now, after having sex with two men? How could he atone for that?

He would eat breakfast, thank Malfoy when he was finished, and then leave. After which he'd try his very best to forget that any of this had ever occurred. Half hour later, he'd done just that. But this was Malfoy, and after three weeks of complete and utter silence Harry knew he should've expected the man to come and bother him again.

“Oi, Potter.” Malfoy swaggered up to Harry in the Ministry cafeteria, slapping a hand on the table in front of Harry. “Ever heard of manners?”

“Excuse me?” Harry asked. “You're the one who just came here out of the blue and hit the table.”

“No, you idiot. When you fuck someone once, generally you should greet them at some point, especially when you work in close proximity to them.”

Harry clenched his teeth. Malfoy worked as an Auror too, and whilst they weren't partnered together, they saw each other often. It was an occurrence that Harry had gone out of his way to avoid for the past few weeks.

“But I suppose we can't all be brought up with good manners,” said Malfoy, heaving a theatrical sigh. “Therefore I have come to tell you that you and I are going to have sex again.”

“Keep your voice down!” Harry growled, keenly aware that they were starting to attract attention. Then, he realised the last thing Malfoy had said, and felt a swell of panic rise inside him. “And no we're not!”

“We both enjoyed ourselves that night, so yes we are. Besides, I've caught you staring at my arse these past few weeks.” Malfoy tossed his head back, grinning impishly. “Not that I can blame you; I do have a spectacular arse. You could barely keep your hands off it, if I recall correctly.”

Harry clenched his teeth, unable to deny that. There'd been times when he'd slipped up and looked, only to get caught and spend the next hour wishing to sink into the floor. “I'm not having sex with you again.”

“My goodness, are you still going through your sexuality crisis?” Malfoy drawled. “I had hoped you'd overcome that by now.”

“There was no sexuality crisis!”

“Then you admit to being at least bisexual, if not gay?”

“No! Because I am not gay, and not bisexual!”

“Go another round with me and maybe you'll question that. You're so thick – and I'm not just talking about your cock.”

Harry wanted to scream and bury his face in his hands, but he couldn't do that in a crowded Ministry cafeteria. Why – just why – did Malfoy have to come along and ruin three weeks worth of work? Just a little bit longer, and he knew he would've had the whole thing forgotten. Perhaps now he'd have to put his wand to his head and Obliviate himself, consequences be damned. There were just some things that shouldn't be remembered.

“Come on, Potter.” Malfoy leaned down, right into Harry's personal space, leering. Harry leaned as far back as the confines of his chair allowed, his heartbeat pounding rapidly against his ribcage. “You know you want to.”

“No. I don't.” Harry shoved his hands under his thighs discreetly; for one foolish second, he'd been about to reach up and touch Malfoy's blond hair. He had a fleeting urge to see if it was as soft as it looked, horrified to realise he was saddened that he couldn't remember the last time his hands had been buried in it. “Is that – are you done here?”

Malfoy continued to leer, as if he'd picked up on Harry's almost slip-up. “For now. I'll see you later, Potter.”

He walked away – and was it Harry's imagination, or was his arse really swaying? – No! No, he couldn't think things like that and he definitely shouldn't be staring at Malfoy's arse. He wasn't gay, so there was no need to stare.

If he tried a little harder, maybe ignoring Malfoy would make him disappear.

*

It didn't work. 

“Go on a date with me.” Malfoy draped himself across Harry's desk like he owned the bloody thing. 

Harry was lucky that he'd already swallowed his mouthful of coffee. “What?” he yelped.

Malfoy pouted. “I don't like repeating myself.”

“I am _not_ going on a date with you,” said Harry, a small, nervous chuckle bursting from his lips. “You're delusional if you think I'd want to.”

“Well, then how about a drink at the Hogs Head?” asked Malfoy innocently.

“Isn't that still a date?”

“No, it can be just a drink between old acquaintances if you want.”

Harry frowned suspiciously; Malfoy's smile was smiling way too sweetly for his words to be genuine. “No.”

“Oh, come on, Potter! Live a little!”

“I live just fine, thank you,” said Harry tartly.

“Yeah, and I'm not a natural blond,” Malfoy replied sarcastically. “Come on, how would going out for drinks hurt you in any way?”

“For one, don't you remember what happened last time?”

Malfoy frowned. “So don't drink that much. Besides, you make it sound like the sex was awful.”

Harry opened his mouth to state that yes the sex had been awful, but found the lies got caught in his throat. He stared dumbly at Malfoy, who smirked down at him in such a way that made Harry want to shove him off the desk – and then drop the desk on him.

“See,” crowed Malfoy, jabbing a finger at him. “You can't even deny it.”

Harry dragged a hand through his hair, exasperated. “Get out of my office, Malfoy.”

“Only if you come get drinks with me after work,” said Malfoy promptly.

“Oh for the love of – Fine, okay! Fine! I'll come.”

Malfoy grinned, shark-like and triumphant. “Meet me outside the Ministry at five,” he said, pushing himself off of Harry's desk. “Remember; we're going to the Hogs Head.”

Already Harry regretted accepting. He wondered whether he'd need to have one hand over his wand just in case. When it came to Malfoy, Harry barely knew what to expect.

For the rest of the day he dreaded the upcoming evening with Malfoy. It didn't occur to him simply to change his mind and tell Malfoy no, or simply Apparate away and leave Malfoy waiting outside the Ministry for him. As much as he didn't want to go, he was surprised to find that some part of him did, and that was apparently the part that made all of his decisions for him. He would go and he wouldn't be surprised if he hated it.

“You're late,” said Malfoy primly, when Harry stepped outside. He was leaning against the brick wall, one ankle crossed over the other, the wind gently ruffling his hair. Malfoy attempted to tuck his long fringe behind his ear, but the wind only caught it and blew it back out again. “I've been waiting out here for ages.”

Harry frowned at him. “We knock off at the same time. You can't have been waiting more than five minutes.”

“Exactly,” said Malfoy, pushing off the wall. “Five minutes is too long, Potter.”

“Whatever.” Harry rolled his eyes. He hoped Malfoy wasn't going to be this dramatic all night, otherwise Harry'd probably throttle the bastard. “Who's Apparating?”

Malfoy sighed, grabbing Harry's wrist. “I'll do it.”

Within seconds, they were standing out the front of the Hogs Head.

“Still as grimy as ever,” Harry sighed.

“Well as I'm not allowed into the Three Broomsticks or the Leaky Cauldron, this was the best idea I could come up with,” said Malfoy, a bit testily.

“You've been banned from the Leaky?” Harry asked incredulously. He hadn't heard about that.

“Self-imposed ban,” Malfoy corrected. “The barman and I don't get along, so I don't see why I should help out his business by dining there.”

“But you were there the other night when we – when we –” Harry blushed to the tips of his ears, staring avidly at the ground as if it held the secrets to the universe.

“Yes, 'when we',” said Malfoy, and Harry could just hear the smirk in his tone, the git. “However, I was with company then and they refused to be seen in the Hogs Head. I decided to nullify my ban for one night and faced a slew of derogatory remarks and threats for my presence there before I ran into you. Safe to say, I am in no hurry to step foot in that place again.”

“Why do I get the feeling you've banned yourself from a lot of places?”

“Probably because I have.”

Harry frowned. “Why would you do something like that?”

“Are you really so dense?” Malfoy held up his hand, stopping Harry's irate protest. “No, don't answer that. Do you think anyone would take seeing me in any establishment so lightly? Not that I don't deserve it, but I have been cursed, hexed, punched and spat upon since Voldemort's demise. Funnily enough, I am not in the mood to put myself in that position again. Therefore there are many places which I do not visit.”

“But – but you're an Auror!” Harry spluttered, indignant. “They can't do that to an Auror, can they?”

“Do you really expect they'd be detained for very long?” Malfoy arched an eyebrow and Harry released a frustrated growl. “Quite so. The one time I brought it to the attention of the higher-ups, I was told quite frankly to 'get used to it or walk, Malfoy, you pansy' before I was summarily thrown out of the office with rancorous laughter following me down the hallway.”

“It's not right,” said Harry through clenched teeth. “The war is over; this shouldn't be happening.”

“Just because the biggest bully is off the playground doesn't mean the rest of them walked off too,” said Malfoy. “I may not be the person I was before the war, yet that is all I am known for, and I've come to accept it. Don't trouble yourself over it.”

“But –”

“Are we going to go inside or not?” asked Malfoy firmly, putting a swift end to the topic of conversation. There was no mischief or laughter in his eyes like Harry had grown accustomed to seeing; it was as if talk of the prejudice that Malfoy faced – quite a turn-about from the prejudice he'd willingly dished out as a child – had drained the life from him. Harry realised he didn't like it much at all.

“Sure,” mumbled Harry. “Let's go.”

Malfoy swivelled around on the tips of his toes and shoved open the door to the Hogs Head. He grimaced in distaste at the crunch of dirt beneath his feet, as well as the grime on the windows. Behind the bar, Aberforth Dumbledore watched them shrewdly, wiping a glass with a questionably clean dish rag.

“You order,” said Malfoy dismissively. “I'm going to find us a place to sit.”

 _That shouldn't be too difficult,_ thought Harry, glancing around. _This place is as empty as usual._

“Two firewhiskys please, Aberforth,” said Harry, stepping up to the bar. If Draco didn't like the drink, then he could piss right the fuck off. Harry would drink them both.

“Watch yourself around him,” muttered Aberforth, shooting a black look at Malfoy's back. “Tigers ain't known to change their stripes, neither are Death Eaters. What you are is what you are.”

“I can handle him,” said Harry, repressing a sigh. “Don't worry.”

Aberforth grunted. “Well don't say I didn't warn you.”

“I have no intentions of doing so,” said Harry lightly. He suspected Aberforth only allowed Malfoy to come into his bar was to keep his business afloat. How the Hogs Head remained in open when five customers represented a booming business for Aberforth was beyond him.

“Here,” said Aberforth, handing him two bottles of firewhisky. Harry gave him the correct change. “Cheers. And just in case, I'll keep an eye on the little bugger.”

Harry chose to say nothing; nothing could convince Aberforth that Malfoy wasn't actually a threat. He wondered, briefly, if Aberforth's concern was about the danger he thought Malfoy posed to Harry and Hogs Head or if it was due to the disbelief that people could actually change their ways given the right means and motives.

Nodding to Aberforth, he made his way over to Malfoy, who had chosen a table at the back of the pub where he could watch anyone and everyone inside. He'd used magic to clean off the table, and it sparkled.

“I may choose to drink in a den of filth,” said Malfoy, “but I refuse to become coated in it.”

“Fair enough,” said Harry, handing him a bottle. “Drink up.”

Malfoy did as he was told; he cracked open his bottle and downed half of it in the three long gulps. He slammed the bottle down, pressing his fingers to his lips to mask a burp.

“What?” he asked, noticing Harry staring at him.

“Keep that up and you're gonna get drunk,” said Harry.

“What makes you think I don't want to be drunk?” Malfoy arched a brow. Harry really hated how his brows worked independently of one another. It was a skill he'd never been able to pick up. “You have to be seven sheets to the wind to enjoy being in this hovel.”

“Then I don't understand why you don't find somewhere else to drink,” replied Harry, nonplussed. “Nobody is forcing you to come here.”

“Mm, I've tried,” said Malfoy. He downed more of his firewhisky. Harry's throat hurt just watching him. How could Malfoy not feel the burn? “Everyone in Britain seems to know who I am, so why bother any more? Plus, the look Aberforth gives me is well worth sitting in this dump for a couple hours.”

He lightly bit the spout of his bottle, shooting Harry a wicked grin that absolutely did _not_ make his heart leap.

“You do know Aberforth is –”

“Albus Dumbledore's little brother,” Draco cut in. “I know I had more important things to worry about during the war, but I did actually read _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_. Practically everyone did. Even though it's written by Rita Skeeter, you'd have to be blind to miss it in the book stores, and stupid to not pick it up.”

Harry frowned. “Why would that be stupid? Skeeter writes nothing but trash anyway.”

“Because even a journalist with questionable morales and even more questionable information resources has to base their lies on truths to make it at least somewhat believable. When it comes to Rita Skeeter's work, you have to read between the lines to find out the truth and not take everything at face value.”

“I'm afraid that's something most of the Wizarding world seems incapable of doing,” said Harry dryly.

“True,” said Draco. He frowned. “This is horrible. Why are we talking about this on our date? This wasn't the sort of conversation I had in mind when I asked you out.”

“This is _not_ a date!”

*

In spite of himself, Harry found himself having fun with Malfoy – and the world wasn't ending as a result. A miracle had occurred; a Malfoy and a Potter getting along and all was fine.

Harry had made sure he didn't drink enough to get drunk and lose his inhibitions. He wasn't in the mood to wake up in another man's bed – possibly Malfoy's – and go through yet another panic attack.

Malfoy, however, was trying his best to get plastered. His cheeks were rosy and his eyes glassy. There was no getting a buzz for him; he only ever drank to get drunk – a fact he'd proclaimed so loud that it wouldn't have come as a surprise if the whole of Hogsmeade had heard it.

“And you know what else?” hiccuped Malfoy, pointing a finger at Harry before he tossed his head back and drank the last of his third firewhisky. Harry considered cutting him off there. “The seeker for the – _hic_ – Falcons is absolute crap. I could fly better than that – _hic_ – twat, drunk and half-asleep! How he spots – _hic_ – the Snitch when he's too busy flirting with that wretched Chaser, I'll – _hic_ – never know.”

“He's only lost the Snitch twice out of the last five games,” said Harry reasonably. “He's not that bad of a Seeker.” Although he did agree that the Seeker did spend too much time flirting with the Chaser. It was beyond infuriating to watch, especially when the Snitch had a tendency to dance around his ankles.

“He's a – _hic_ – liability!” He tried to drink more firewhisky but found that his bottle was empty. He slammed it down on the table and stared imperiously at Harry. “Get me another bottle, Potter!”

Harry frowned. “I'm not your house-elf, Malfoy. Get up and get it yourself.”

“Pl – _hic_ – please, Potter?” Malfoy pouted. “I'll suck your – _hic_ – dick if you buy me another.”

Harry blushed, furious. “What the fuck, Malfoy?”

“I – _hic_ – like sucking cock. I'm – _hic_ – really good at – _hic_ – it.”

“I think you've had enough to drink,” said Harry tersely. The rather jovial mood had dissipated, reminding Harry why he'd originally thought going for drinks with Malfoy was a bad idea. “It's time for you to go home.”

“Nooo!” Malfoy whined. “I wanna stay – _hic_ – with _you_! Don't wanna go home.”

Harry stood up, rounded the table and hauled Malfoy up, steering him toward the Floo. “Don't care, you're going home and that's that. You've had too much to drink.”

“Is this – _– because I offered to suck your dick? If you – _hic_ – don't want me to I – _hic_ – won't. Why do you gotta be so mean?” Malfoy dug his heels into the floor. “I just – _hic_ – wanted to spend time with – _hic_ – you. I like you, you know, but you never – _hic_ – notice me.”_

“What the hell are you talking about, Malfoy?” Harry shook his head. He stopped shoving Malfoy toward the Floo, interested in what he had to say. “I notice you all the time.”

“No, no, no, _no_!” Malfoy shook his head wildly. He stopped hiccuping. “You _don't_! I have to confront you every time I want your attention; you never look at me simply because you want to look. You only look at me when I'm really trying. If I try and talk to you, you make up excuses for why you can't stay long. I had to fight to get you to come out with me tonight!”

 _I don't like you, Malfoy, that's why,_ Harry almost said. The words got caught in his throat.

“I try and show you I'm a better person,” said Malfoy miserably, “but you make it clear that I'm not worth your time.” He stepped away from Harry, his eyes downcast – and was his jaw trembling? Harry was rooted to the spot, feeling terror uncoil in his gut. What if Malfoy started crying? “Even _now_ you're shoving me away! Fine then, fuck you, Potter, I don't need you. I've tried and tried and _tried_ , but I guess you still consider me to be dung on the bottom of your shoe.”

He stumbled to the Floo, almost tripping over his own feet.

“Have a nice life!” shouted Malfoy, throwing a bit of Floo Powder down at his feet and said, “Malfoy Manor!” He disappeared in a whirl of green fire, leaving Harry stunned speechless in the middle of Hogs Head.

“Told you he was trouble,” muttered Aberforth behind him, sounding highly amused.

Just what the hell happened?

*

For a week, Harry found himself supremely disturbed by Malfoy's Arctic silence. Rarely did Malfoy avoid him for very long – always had liked to niggle and stick his nose in where it didn't belong – and so to not have him there, talking a mile a minute and wriggling like a skittish kitten, was off-putting.

He'd thought – _hoped_ – that Malfoy had been too drunk to remember anything from that night, but each day that Malfoy passed his desk without so much as glancing in his direction proved him wrong.

Harry didn't like being ignored, but he wasn't about to lower himself and talk to Malfoy first. He would _not_ be the first to crack.

Work became inexplicably boring between cases, something Harry had never experienced before in his time working in the Auror corps. Oh sure, people nodded and said hello, occasionally stopped for mundane chats, but he found them boring too.

If he was honest with himself – _only_ to himself – he missed Malfoy.

Merlin, what in the hell was Malfoy _doing_ to him?

On the eighth day, Harry had had enough. He confronted Malfoy at his own desk, waiting patiently until Malfoy could no longer continue acting as if he couldn't see him.

“I have some free time after work this evening,” Harry began.

Malfoy frowned, canting his head. “Good for you. Not sure why I should care.”

“Well,” said Harry, unperturbed, “I was wondering if you wanted to get drinks?”

“You want to get drinks?”

“Yes.”

“With me?”

 _Am I missing something?_ “Yes.”

“Do you mean to tell me that after all this time trying to get your attention, all I had to do was stop giving you mine?” Malfoy snorted. “Bloody typical. All that effort, now wasted.”

“Are you going to accept the invitation or not?”

“Fine.” Malfoy snatched up his quill, shaking his head in apparent disgust – whether at himself or Harry remained to be seen. “But you're buying all the drinks.”

“What?” squawked Harry. “I bought all the drinks last time!”

“Yes, but this time you're making up for all the emotional distress you've caused. I can easily go back to ignoring you, you know, so you might as well just accept.”

Harry rolled his eyes and folded his arms over his chest. “Fine. Six o'clock okay?”

“Six-thirty,” said Malfoy tonelessly. “I need to shower and get dressed properly. Do not come dressed in your Auror robes. Wear something decent.”

“Any more orders, _Your Majesty_?”

“Yes,” said Malfoy, turning to face him. “Think real hard about your sexual orientation, Potter, and think real hard about why you've got so much internalised homophobia. Any time you think someone is calling you gay, you get a panicked look in your eyes, as if there could be nothing worse than that. It's insulting that you think being gay, or bisexual, is the worst thing you could possibly be. Sort yourself out before you come see me tonight.”

With that, Malfoy turned away from a gobsmacked Harry and refused to speak another word.

And Harry did as he was told – not that he could've helped it. It was shocking to be confronted like that, to be told in no uncertain terms that he had a problem that was in dire need of fixing. He walked back to his desk, feeling like his world had been shaken and spun.

It was safe to say that drinks that night did not go well.

*

Harry couldn't stop thinking about it for three days. He felt as if he was pulling himself and his memories apart to the bare bones, trying to figure out who he was and why he was this way. Damn it all, but Malfoy had given him a lot to think about. Who knew that examining yourself could be so hard?

He had, at least, pinpointed the origin of his problems; the Dursleys. They were the cause of many of his problems, sure, but until now he hadn't realised they were to blame for his internalised homophobia. Derogatory comments made in his vicinity –

_“Look at those faggots, Dudley,” said Uncle Vernon on a car trip they were forced to bring Harry to because Mrs. Figg fell ill, glaring at two men who were kissing in the middle of the street holding one bag of groceries each. “Don't you ever turn out like them; they're bad people. Scum. Bunch of sissy nancy-boys.”_

_“How dare they perform their disgusting acts in public?” said Aunt Petunia, pointing at two men holding hands. “Do they not know there's children around? How vile! Dudley, look away. I don't want you exposed to such harmful people!” ___

_“Faggot!” yelled Dudley, pelting Harry with rocks at school, age nine. “Harry Potter is a prancing fairy faggot! Everyone knows it, you freaky faggot!”_

_“You'd be one of them, wouldn't you?” said Uncle Vernon nastily to Harry, age fourteen, having caught Harry staring at a same-sex couple. “You'd be one of those pillow-biters, shirt-lifter nancy-boys, aye? Want me to buy you a pink tutu and some glitter, huh, fairy boy? That way you can be more of a freak than you already are!”_

There were likely more instances of the Dursleys hatred toward anything remotely homosexual. Harry hoped he'd blocked those out or had simply forgotten. He hadn't realised what a problem his own thinking had become, because all of those comments had seemed normal. As a child, he'd stopped looking at gay couples in London (of which there were plenty), had stopped being intrigued by them and, over time, had started feeling disgusted.

But his behaviour patterns, his sexual history up to that point, was pointing toward at least 'bisexual' like Malfoy had stated. If that was part of who he was – and he wasn't quite sure yet – then he knew he'd have to get help, or at least talk to someone, to try and weed out the negative thoughts and accept who he was. He didn't want to let the Dursleys hatred affect his life any more.

He wanted to talk to Hermione.

*

“I'm glad that you decided to come and talk to me about this, Harry,” said Hermione warmly the next day. They sat in a local coffee shop nursing Styrofoam cups of coffee. “I understand that this sort of thing is difficult.”

“Malfoy was right,” said Harry miserably. “He was right, and I can't keep living like this.”

“No, obviously you can't. This sort of thing won't be fixed in one day; this is your mindset, Harry, and it's going to take a lot of time, energy and focus to fix. However, you're off to a great start already, having pinpointed and accepted the problem.” Hermione paused, sipping her coffee. “When you get drunk, I believe the side of you that you've always repressed shines through. Your sub-conscious is trying to tell you all of this, but when you're drunk you don't realise it and when you're sober you don't want to think about it.”

“So what should I do?” asked Harry uneasily. 

“There are a few exercises you can do,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “However, I'm not a trained professional. Perhaps it'd be better if you saw a Mind-Healer or something.”

“Do you really think I need one?”

“Honestly, yes I do. Your internalised homophobia is not your fault; you were exposed to some really nasty comments. However, it _will_ be your fault now that you've understood your problem if you don't do anything about it.” Hermione pursed her lips. “I do wish I could curse the Dursleys. Horrid people, they are.”

“You won't hear me disagreeing with you,” said Harry fervently. Apologies from Dudley aside, the Dursleys had done a great deal of damage to Harry. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were, quite frankly, horrible parents and even worse people. “Okay, I'll go and see a Mind Healer.”

Hermione beamed at him. “I'm so proud of you, Harry.”

“Thanks.”

Harry decided later on that he was going to confront Malfoy and prove to him that he was trying to change. The radio silence on Malfoy's end for the past couple of weeks unnerved him, but also made him feel very lonely. He wasn't used to Malfoy ignoring him. On numerous occasions, Harry wanted to shake him to garner some kind of response. To make Malfoy see that he, Harry, was not invisible but right there in front of him.

“Malfoy!” he called, as soon as he saw Malfoy sitting at his desk, writing up a report.

Malfoy sighed and set down his quill. “Yes, Potter?”

“I've decided to get help with my problem.”

Malfoy let out a disgusted sound, shaking his head. “So now being gay is a _problem_?”

“What?” Harry asked, bewildered. “No! I meant I'm going to get help because the way I see gay people is a problem. I'm going to a Mind-Healer so I can, I don't know, get over this homophobia or whatever.”

He went quiet, waiting eagerly for Malfoy's response.

“That's … good, Potter. That's really good.” Malfoy offered a small smile, but the approval in his eyes made Harry's spirits soar. “I'm glad you're getting help.”

“I am, too. I hadn't realised there was an issue until … Well, until I thought about the Dursleys and all the things they've said about … you know.”

Malfoy hummed. “The Dursleys are your family, am I right?”

“ _Were_ ,” said Harry emphatically. “I don't consider them family any more.”

“Right.” Malfoy pinched his bottom lip between forefinger and thumb, playing idly with it. He stared down at his desk, hair falling over his face and concealing his eyes. “Well, I wish you all the best with that. I hope it all goes smoothly.”

Whilst Harry hadn't been expecting Malfoy to leap with joy, he had thought the announcement would be met with a little bit more exuberance than this. Malfoy was choosing his words with care, and avoided looking Harry directly in the eye. Harry didn't doubt that Malfoy was pleased, but still.

“Thank you,” Harry murmured. “I'll leave you to your work.”

Malfoy nodded his head, still not meeting Harry's eyes. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Harry walked to his desk and threw himself down in his chair.

He didn't know why Malfoy's lack of reaction bothered him, but it did. What would it take to get the old Malfoy back? The one that draped himself over Harry desk and asked him to for drinks? Where was the Malfoy who enjoyed getting on each and every one of Harry's nerves with nothing more than a handful of words and a cocky grin? Where did _that_ Malfoy go?

*

“So, Mr. Potter,” Mind-Healer Jackson said, seating herself on a chair position directly across from Harry, a small wooden coffee table separating them, “please tell me the reasons why you are here to see me.”

“I have a lot of internalised homophobia,” said Harry, “and it's interfering with my life. I don't want to think people who are gay are something horrible.”

Mind-Healer Jackson hummed, nodding thoughtfully. “So you are here to correct one facet of your mindset? Could you tell me why this is causing an issue in your life? What makes you think that you _need_ to be here?”

It had been two weeks since Harry had told Malfoy he was going to see a Mind Healer. Today was the first appointment he could book that Mind Healer Jackson and Harry himself were free. She had a calm disposition and the way she spoke, quietly and smoothly, made Harry hang onto her every word.

She allowed Harry to speak his mind throughout the appointment, nodding along and making notes. For the most part, she didn't interrupt unless she asked Harry to elaborate, and she didn't show any sign of disgust when Harry told her what the Dursleys used to say to him. She was a blank canvas that would remain blank.

“I just … I don't want to keep thinking this way,” said Harry.

“Forgive me if I'm wrong, Mr. Potter, but it sounds as if you're not doing this just for yourself,” said Mind-Healer Jackson. “It sounds, to me, as if you're doing this for Mr. Malfoy as well as yourself. Without his insistence, would you have noticed there was a problem at all?”

Harry thought about it for a moment. “No, I don't think I would have.”

And with that minor realisation, he was more grateful to Malfoy than he could ever remember being. As the appointment wore on, and Mind-Healer Jackson gave him tips and tricks start overcoming his internalised homophobia, Harry made a mental note to thank Malfoy profusely. Maybe even buy him those expensive chocolates he always brought in for himself; the ones from France that cost a bloody fortune.

*

Three months passed and Harry was seeing some improvement.

His first assignment from Mind-Healer Jackson had gone well; he'd taken a trip to a gay club – bringing along a very reluctant Ron because he was too scared to go on his own – and hadn't been repulsed when a man sidled up to him and bought him drinks, kissing him on the cheek when Harry mumbled that he wasn't quite ready to be taken home yet (if he ever would be). Ron must've had his 'as straight as a ruler' attitude going, because no man made more than a cursory glance in his direction before moving along.

Harry danced for a little bit and had fun, forcing himself not to become too uncomfortable in the writhing mass of male bodies that pressed up against his own as they danced to the beat, and managed not to run out of the club. Still, that first night there had been more than a few negative thoughts towards gay people, but he'd work on it.

“I recommend you going at least once a week,” said Mind-Healer Jackson, when Harry told her that he'd still had those thoughts of 'disgusting' and 'perverted freaks'. “I did warn you that this wasn't going to be fixed overnight, but you're doing a wonderful job so far. Be proud of that. It'll take a while yet before you train your brain to think more positive thoughts.”

And so he went once a week, growing more and more confident until he was able to go on his own. Until he was able to see a gay man, or have one pressed up against him, and not care – by the seven month marker, he was enjoying it. That's when he decided it was time to go and see Malfoy.

Malfoy had stopped giving Harry the cold shoulder after two months, but he was nowhere near being as loud and wild as he'd been before. Harry found himself missing that side of Malfoy that it made him ache, even. He was polite – a word Harry would never have associated with Malfoy before, and something he hoped he'd never have to again. Draco Malfoy was not the type of man who should be polite all the time.

“I hope you haven't given up on me yet, Malfoy,” muttered Harry fervently, on Sunday night. He had plans to walk right up to Malfoy and kiss him full on the lips before Malfoy could think of anything to say. “Because now that I see you in the way you always wanted me to, I'm not giving up on you.”

*

Malfoy was indeed shocked the next morning, his hands flying up to cup Harry's jaw, as Harry kissed him full on the mouth like he'd promised him he would.

“What?” he whispered, staring up at Harry in awe.

“Go for drinks with me, Malfoy,” said Harry, gasping for breath.

“Are you asking me on a date?”

There was no hesitation in Harry's response: “Yes.”

“Okay, but only on one condition,” said Malfoy, holding up his index finger.

Harry licked his lips, canting his head. “And what's that?”

Malfoy grinned. “Call me Draco.”

*

“ – the first,” Harry was saying, as Draco rounded the corner near the DMLE on his way to pick up a few reports he'd forgotten to take home with him.

Draco paused, his heart skipping a beat. It had been a week since he and Harry had started dating and he couldn't have been happier if he tried. Everything was _perfect_. Harry had taken him for drinks like he said he would, almost like he was paying homage to the fateful night they'd run into each other, as well as the night when Draco had gotten drunk and spilled the beans about his feelings, forcing Harry to re-evaluate his own. But after around two or three, Harry had taken Draco by the hand and led him to a fancy restaurant he'd made reservations with in advance. (“Were you planning on me agreeing to date you?” asked Draco, smirking. – “No, not planning. Hoping,” replied Harry.)

They hadn't had sex again; they seemed to be building up to that point. Draco doubted Harry remembered their first night together, as he'd been six sheets to the wind and Draco not far behind him.

“Oh yeah?” asked Granger, her interest piqued at whatever Harry had been saying before Draco had come along. He forced himself to listen. “Tell us more!”

“Well, blond, obviously, and cocky,” said Harry. “Absolutely rubbish in the bedroom, though. It took me a while to remember that, and I really wish I hadn't.”

Weasley snorted derisively. “You have a type, don't you?”

Blond, cocky. Draco's heart plummeted. Was Harry talking about him?

“Biggest mistake of my life, he was,” said Harry. “I wish I'd never run into him. Ruined my whole night –”

Fury shot through Draco like a geyser. Oh he would make Harry _pay_ for this!

*

“Bastard!” Harry heard someone scream just seconds before a shoe hit him in the face. Only quick reflexes saved him from falling off the bench and he heard Ron and Hermione cry out in alarm. Just as he sat upright, a second shoe came flying at him. Luckily, he managed to duck that one.

“What the hell –” The words died in his throat; Harry looked up and saw Draco storming off in his socks, his hands balled into fists. Harry recalled the gist of what he'd been telling Ron and Hermione – blond hair, cocky – and blanched in horror. Draco must've thought Harry was talking about _him_.

“He's crazy, mate!” said Ron, aghast. “Absolutely mental.”

“Are you alright, Harry?” asked Hermione, moving to place a concerned hand on Harry's shoulder.

“Draco, wait!” Harry made sure to grab Draco's shoes as he scrambled off the bench, mumbling an apology to Ron and Hermione before he gave chase. “Please, wait up!”

He managed to catch up, and grabbed Draco's wrist to stop him.

“Let go of me!” Draco whirled around, jerking his arm out of Harry's grasp. “Was I some kind of pity fuck? Is that it? Are you with me out of _pity_ or something?”

“ _No_ , Draco, you've got it all wrong –”

“I'll have you know that there are several men who can attest that I am nothing less than a _god_ in bed –” 

“I know that. I –”

“And you decide it's okay to make up lies about my sexual prowess and go running to Weasley and Granger? Did you think I wouldn't find out?”

Harry dropped the shoes and grabbed Draco roughly by the shoulders and giving him a firm shake to silence him. “No, Draco. I know what it sounds like, but I wasn't talking about you, okay? Before you and I had sex the first time, there was another guy. Blond, like you, yes. But what I remember of him is that he was rubbish in bed, especially in comparison to you.”

Biting his lip, Draco asked, “You're not lying to get out of trouble, are you?”

“I wouldn't have the guts,” said Harry. “After you threw your shoes at me just now, I wouldn't dare lie to you out of fear of what you'd throw next time.”

Draco huffed a laugh, lowering his head. “You should fear me.”

Harry pinched Draco's chin gently between forefinger and thumb, nudging Draco's head up. Once their eyes met, he grinned. He leaned forward to press a soft, sweet kiss to Draco's lips. “I'm positively trembling in my boots.”

“So you should be.” Draco licked his lips, humming.

“Ugh, gross.” Harry's head snapped up at the sound of Ron's disgusted voice – just in time to see Hermione elbow him hard in the ribs, shooting him a reproachful glare.

“Shut up, Weasley,” said Draco without heat, keeping his eyes fixed on Harry. He looked happier than Harry had ever seen him; Harry's heart leapt in joy, knowing that he'd put that smile on Draco's face and that expression of love in his eyes. _I did that_. “You're just jealous.”

Ron spluttered, unable to form coherent words in his indignant rage. Clicking her tongue impatiently, Hermione muttered, “Come along, Ron” as she grabbed him by the back of his robe collar and pulled him away from the scene. She glanced back at Harry, though, and smiled, giving him a thumbs up. Harry's insides warmed and he felt grateful to have her approval. Ron would eventually come around as well. 

“Come to dinner with me tonight,” said Draco abruptly. “You're paying though.”

Harry snorted. “Why am I not surprised that you'd make me pay for dinner?”

“Well you have caused me emotional distress,” replied Draco simply. “You must pay for it by feeding me.”

“Ah, of course. I see how it is. And where exactly will we be dining?”

“Well, the Hogs Head is definitely out,” said Draco, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “That place is so filthy I wouldn't be surprised if some of it was from Merlin's time!”

Harry snorted, flicking Draco lightly on the forehead. “Now you're just exaggerating. But I agree, we're not going to the Hogs Head ever again.” He paused. “Why don't you come back to mine, instead? I'll cook for you.”

“Are you trying to get out of paying for my dinner?”

“Technically I will have paid for your dinner – I did buy the groceries I'll need to make dinner for you. What do you say? I'm a good cook.”

Draco smiled up at him. “Fine … It better be fancy, though.”

“Of course.” Harry took Draco's hand. “Let's go home, Draco.”


End file.
